


My Father Is Going to Hear About This

by Notthatnaturaldean



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Post-Battle of Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29374779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notthatnaturaldean/pseuds/Notthatnaturaldean
Summary: Few students come back to Hogwarts for 8th year, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy included. After the war, they all just want to pass their classes and be normal teenagers after the war, but what happens when Draco can't pass Defense Against the Dark Arts without facing his boggart, who just so happens to be his father? And why is Potter being so nice and helpful all of the sudden?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Pansy Parkinson/Ginny Weasley, Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas
Comments: 19
Kudos: 50





	1. Third-Year Deja Vu

**Author's Note:**

> -IN PROGRESS-
> 
> I'm not sure how long this fic is gonna be, but there's definitely a lot more coming whenever I can get it done!
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated - let me know if there's anything you guys want to see in this fic.
> 
> Credit to @singmeawake (Tumblr: https://singmeawake.tumblr.com/) for the idea of this fic, hope you enjoy it!
> 
> I don't own any characters in this work, all credit goes to the rightful owners (J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn’t worth fighting with Potter, not in his last year, and especially not after everything that had happened during the summer. Potter was still annoying and arrogant and...well, Potter, but Draco wasn’t about to find ways to get expelled before he could graduate. It would be hard enough to find a job with a Hogwarts education, and he wasn’t about to lose it over something as stupid as taunting the Chosen One.

Draco eyed the wardrobe with apprehension as he watched it rattle and creak, his classmates just as wary of the suspicious piece of furniture. 

“Now,” began Professor Lupin, walking in front of the wardrobe casually, as if it didn’t contain some magical creature that clearly wanted to escape and wreak havoc in his classroom. “I understand that almost all of you know what a boggart is, especially since I was the one to teach it to you in your Third year. The wizards who set the standards for your OWL examinations, however, have evidently failed to remember this, and so you must defeat a boggart to pass my class.” 

A chuckle went around the room, and Draco internally cringed at the lack of care around their education. The Ministry couldn’t even be bothered to remember what they learned at Hogwarts, much less what year they learned it; they just cared about seeing enough O’s to keep their reputation from dropping more than it already had with the war. 

Draco shuddered as he thought back to the war, hoping that no one would notice. 

He had only come back to school at his mother’s incessant, damn near begging, her concern for his future and the Malfoy reputation urging him to graduate. He had scoffed at her - who would hire an ex-Death Eater? - but he still returned, unable to deny his mother anything at the moment. 

She had gone through too much loss already to see her son in shambles as well.

He shook his head slightly, like a dog clearing out water from its mane, and maintained a neutral face as he looked around at the other anxious students. 

“You’ve done this before, but let’s get this done quickly, shall we? Form a line now, don’t just linger about in a crowd!” 

There was pushing and the shuffling of feet against stone as students moved around, each shoving their friends in front of them. They all remembered facing a boggart in Third year, and none were eager to have a repeat of that particular experience. 

Dean Thomas was shoved to the front with a look of regret, with Potter and his friends close behind, muttering to each other. Draco rolled his eyes. 

Of course Potter was at the front with his little herd of followers. They would follow him into death. They  _ did _ follow him into death, during the war. 

He was sure that Potter’s boggart would be You-Know-Who, or perhaps another dementor, but he wasn’t eager to see it, even if he did enjoy seeing Potter fail at something. 

Pansy was immediately at his side, tucking a piece of sleek dark hair behind her ear as she looked at the small group of giggling girls behind them. 

“What do you think is their boggart?” she whispered to him, forcing him to strain his ears to hear her words. “I bet Vane sees Potter reject her like he did when she tried to slip him those love potions in sixth year.” 

Draco sniggered, then ducked his head when Lupin raised his eyebrow in their direction, silently scolding them despite the small smile on his face. 

He turned toward Dean, who was currently failing to find anything humorous about the hand scurrying toward his feet, forcing him to do a sort of tap dance as he avoided it. 

Draco laughed, and soon the line was moving smoothly from person to person as the boggart changed into one frightening thing after another. 

Draco and Pansy were nearly the last people in line, watching intently at the others in front of them. 

The bell rang as Granger strided to the front of the room - “confident as always,” Draco thought, internally rolling his eyes - and they were dismissed with a wave of Lupin’s hand. 

“Have a good day, and think about how to defeat your fears for next class!” 

Draco heard as he hurried out the door and nearly collided with Potter, who was obviously reenacting the spider that Ron faced in Third year. 

“Oi!.” 

The Slytherin boy opened his mouth in retort, but quickly shut it and silently left the room, heading towards the library for his free period. 

It wasn’t worth fighting with Potter, not in his last year, and especially not after everything that had happened during the summer. Potter was still annoying and arrogant and...well, Potter, but Draco wasn’t about to find ways to get expelled before he could graduate. It would be hard enough to find a job  _ with _ a Hogwarts education, and he wasn’t about to lose it over something as stupid as taunting the Chosen One. 

“Draco, wait up!” cried Pansy as they strolled down the hall with satchels heavy with textbooks and inkwells, and if Draco tried hard enough to avoid the glares thrown their way, he could almost imagine that life was back to normal at Hogwarts. 


	2. Private Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Couldn’t I just have one normal year?” he grumbled to himself as he walked down the now-empty corridor, his footsteps echoing all the way to the Slytherin dormitories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's started this story with me! 
> 
> The user who gave me this idea actually does have an account, go check out @tupti's stuff! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated, I always want to know what you guys think! <3

Classes went on like this for another few days as more and more students faced their boggarts and walked to the side of the room with weary smiles, terrified and proud as friends clapped each other on the backs. 

Pansy and Draco stood in the back of the room like clockwork, and without fail they watched the line grow shorter and shorter. 

There were a great many Eighth-Years that had returned, even if only because of nagging parents, and although the line grew shorter, Draco had no intention of facing his boggart in front of a roomful of other students - students who hated him and wanted to hex him, nonetheless.

He had only even faced one once, and it made his blood run cold whenever he thought about it. 

Malfoy Manor was an old building, and in the summer between fourth and fifth year, Draco was attempting to find a semi-private room to study in, not wanting his mother to see his pitiful attempts at a Patronus when he found an ancient wardrobe nearly double his size. 

He peered at the locked door behind him, then opened the wardrobe, curious to see what he could find, only to tilt his head in confusion and step back as his father emerged from it. 

He was standing in front of Draco, pristine and sneering as usual.

“Father, what -” “You,” his father had sneered, pushing him slightly with the tip of his cane. “You’re no son of mine. Look at you.” 

He gestured with his elegant arms, and suddenly Draco felt small, as he always did when his father disapproved of something he had done. 

“You’re too small. Too weak. You will never be a Malfoy. You will never understand the power it takes to hold that title. You dare question me about purity and our bloodline, but you can’t even harm a Mudblood when one’s right in front of you! You’ll never be pure, no matter what blood runs in your veins.” 

Draco said nothing, merely cowing with his hands covering his ears in an attempt to block out the cruel words of his father, until he heard a knock at the door. 

“Draco, darling? Is that you in there? Come out, those old rooms are dangerous to play in.” 

The boggart turned its head toward the disturbance, and sneered one last time at Draco before fleeing back to its wardrobe, the door shutting gently with a tiny  _ click _ . 

Draco’s chest constricted at the memory, then he furrowed his eyebrows in resolve. He wouldn’t face that again. 

It wasn’t true, and there was no reason for others to believe anything that scandalous about his family, especially after the war. 

“ _ What if it’s true? _ ” A whisper came from the back of his head, a cold slither across his neck. “ _ You don’t want to see it because it’s true _ .” 

“ _ No _ ,” he thought, but even he could sense the weakness of his pleas against his own mind. 

In front of him, one of the Hufflepuff girls watched as a snarling black dog transformed into a tiny pomeranian, and the girl giggled as she stepped aside, drawing the line closer and closer to Draco. 

The bell rang and students scattered, rushing for their bags as they ran out the door, and Draco heard a voice over the bustle of bodies moving around the small room. 

“Mr. Malfoy, if you could stay behind for just a moment, please.” 

His shoulders tensed despite not knowing what Lupin wanted with him, and he spared a longing glance at the open door before walking over to Lupin’s desk, where the werewolf was stacking papers nearly and placing them into his worn briefcase. 

“I suspect that you might know why I’ve asked you to stay, Mr. Malfoy,” he said, and Draco internally winced, although he kept a neutral face, his grip tightening slightly on the strap of his satchel. 

“Not at all, sir,” he said breezily, and his voice tightened when Lupin’s eyebrows raised. 

The older man crossed his arms, and he gave Draco a look eerily similar to his mother’s when she was disappointed in him. 

“Draco,” he coaxed. “You cannot pass this class if you cannot defeat a boggart, simple as that. I understand wanting to keep those fears private, but if you feel that way then perhaps you would prefer doing it alone? With me?”

Draco just nodded his head mutely, and Lupin sighed. 

“Are you able to defeat a boggart? It’s nothing to be ashamed of if you can’t.” 

“I can,” Draco snapped defensively, crossing his arms. Lupin said nothing, but Draco could feel his face start burning with embarrassment.

Lupin knew. 

The silence hung thick between the stubborn duo, and Draco could faintly hear the bell ring, signaling his next class. 

Lupin gave in first. 

“Look, Draco. If you can defeat one, then brilliant - we’ll do it after class tomorrow. If you can’t, I suggest you meet me in my office, say, nine o’ clock on Thursday? I know that Eighth years can’t play for the Quidditch teams here anymore, so you should be free from any practices.” 

Draco kept his eyes fixed on the cobblestone floor between his shoes, refusing to meet Lupin’s eyes as his face was still resolutely red. 

“Thursday it is, Professor,” he said quietly, and Lupin gave him a comforting smile. 

“Excellent.” 

The older man sent him on his way, with Draco clutching his bag as his head spun in circles. 

“Couldn’t I just have one normal year?” he grumbled to himself as he walked down the now-empty corridor, his footsteps echoing all the way to the Slytherin dormitories. 


	3. Tick-tock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time is moving faster than Draco thought, and even the warm weather can't stop him from freaking out about his approaching lessons with Lupin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I know a lot of the beginning is filler, but I promise that I'm getting to the actual plot soon! :) 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated, thank you for your input so far <3
> 
> I've got a lot going on between work and classes, but I'm trying to still update at least once a week.

Although classes and gossip went around as usual Thursday approached quicker than it should have, and Draco couldn’t help but start to think more and more about what Lupin said to him. 

_ “What’s wrong with me?” _ he moped, picking at his english muffin as Pansy chattered on next to him _. “Agreeing to extra lessons? I’m almost as bad as Granger.”  _

He was going to have to tell her about Lupin’s “private meetings'' at some point - she was his best friend nearly since they were born - but he couldn’t focus on anything when he thought about how much she loved her gossip, and how his boggart could easily be spread around the school like Fiendyfire, and he kept his head down as he fussed over his thoughts. 

“If you’re going to mope about, at least don’t take it out on the poor muffin, you wanker.” Draco’s head snapped up to look at Pansy, who was examining her nails, smirking at her effect on him.  “I’m not moping,” he muttered. 

“Sure, and Madame Prince isn’t having some weird affair with Filch.” 

Draco’s eyes widened and his nose crinkled in disgust, making Pansy laugh as she set about eating her breakfast. 

“You didn’t have to be vulgar about it,” he shuddered dramatically, and the pair fell into easy conversation. 

Draco didn’t want to admit it, but Pansy was the only person who could tell when he was in a mood that was smart enough to just ignore it. They went through the day as usual, the bright sunlight lifting Draco’s mood as they strolled through the open halls of Hogwart. 

It was already October, and the Scottish landscape showed it brilliantly. The trees in the courtyards were colorful and full of younger students stomping on crunchy leaves, olders students lying near the chilly Great Lake in their free periods.

How Draco loathed them as he passed them on his way to DADA, wishing that he was anywhere else. 

The classroom was still full of autumn, as the cozy sunlight streamed in with a slight breeze through the open windows. Class went on as usual as well, with most students gossiping or doing homework as they sat along the wall, already having faced their boggarts. 

Potter and Weasley were laughing about something when Potter caught his eye and his smile faded slightly. Draco’s face turned a pale pink at having been caught staring at Potter, but he couldn’t look away. He saw Weasley poke Potter in the ribs, and as quickly as it had happened, Potter turned away and went back to his friends. For a moment, though, Draco had felt paralyzed. 

“Draco?” He felt a sharp pain in his foot, and jumped, turning to the culprit. 

“What?” he hissed, trying to force himself to not hop in place like an idiot. She simply raised an eyebrow, and he crossed his arms. 

“I wasn’t doing anything,” he nearly pouted, frowning at her. 

“Sure, and Blaise isn’t over there chatting up some Hufflepuff.” 

Draco turned to his other friend, who was giggling with a girl in a striped yellow tie, and he shouldered Pansy gently. 

“I can’t help it if he’s a whore,” he said under his breath, and Pansy snorted, hiding her mouth in her hand. 

Pansy finally faced her boggart - a picture-perfect image of Bellatrix sneering from afar - and then the bell rang. 

“Class dismissed! Have a great day, everyone!”

Draco went to grab his bag when he accidentally caught Lupin’s eye and hesitated in the doorway. 

“You go, I’ll catch up in a minute,” he told Pansy and Blaise, and he walked up to Professor Lupin, who was packing away a stack of parchment paper into a tattered briefcase. 

“Can I assume that I will see you later tonight, Mr. Malfoy?” he asked with a pleasant smile, putting Draco’s nerves slightly at ease, even though his heart was still beating fast. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good, good. Then I suppose I should let you get to your free period, then. It’s lovely weather outside, and I would hate for you to miss it.”

“Of course, sir.” He walked down the hall and out to the Great Lake, where Pansy and Blaise were already bickering about the differences between using owl and peacock feathers in potions for their Potions essays, and Draco smiled, hoping that their free period would last forever, his mind already looking ahead to nine o’ clock.


	4. This Lesson is Riddikulus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yes, sir,” he said, and then he fled to his dorm, hoping to run far away enough to escape his monsters, real or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA that it's about midnight and I'm desperately trying to procrastinate a midterm essay, so instead I'm writing this! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated, I want to know what you guys think! :)

“Ah, Mr. Malfoy! Please, come in!” 

The tired professor stood from his desk and greeted Draco warmly. 

Draco, on the other hand, felt like he would rather be back in the Forbidden Forest, feeling as small as he did when he was a First-Year as his nerves started rapidly increasing at the thought of this “lesson.” 

“Professor, are boggarts truly such a large part of the curriculum?” He asked, trying to act nonchalant even as he tugged at his impeccable tie.  _ “Why is it so hot in here? It’s go to be hot in here! It’s already October, this is ridiculous!”  _

Lupin just gave him a sad smile, pity clearly etched across his face; Draco hated it. He didn’t want anyone pitying him over anything, anymore. 

“I’m afraid so, but I’m sure that you and I can figure this out together, hmm?” 

He bit his tongue and merely nodded, intent on letting Lupin know how nervous he was, even though he was sure that the older man knew that by now. 

This was ridiculous, he shouldn’t be afraid of anything, besides maybe the Dark Lord. 

And there was no reason for his boggart to be anything but the now-dead wizard.

And this was so stupidly  _ simple _ and he  _ still _ couldn’t do it. 

“I suppose we can try,” he said, lifting his head high even as his hands shook inside his robes. 

“That’s the spirit. Now, you already know the concept of a boggart, of course, so there’s nothing else to prattle on about. Let’s begin.” 

The werewolf walked over to the looming wardrobe that sat in it’s common position in the middle of the room, and Draco’s shoulders tensed. It was too much like class - like someone was watching. 

Remus noticed his hesitance and slightly shook his wand to get Draco’s attention. “I'm right here if anything happens, Draco. Just remember that  _ it’s not real. _ ” 

Draco nodded and took a shaky breath before holding his wand out in front of him defensively.

“One, two...three!” 

Immediately the door of the wardrobe opened, and although Draco knew what to expect, it still stunned him into silence. His father emerged, with his usual perfect figure and curling sneer set heavily onto his face. 

“You,” he snarled, and beckoned with his hand. “Come here, boy.” 

Draco just stood in place, to frozen to think or act. 

“Draco,” Lupin warned, but Draco couldn’t hear anything outside of the rush of static in his ears and his father’s booming voice. 

“Don’t you disobey me, boy! You’re lucky that your mother has a soft spot for you, but if it were not for her I would have sent you away the minute you were born!” 

Draco heard a faint “no,” but it took several seconds to realize that he was the one speaking. 

“No?” scoffed the older Malfoy, stepping forward and forcing Draco to stumble backwards into a desk. “I am your father and the Malfoy heir, and you will show me the respect I deserve!” 

Draco stared mutely, and Lucius turned on his heel, glaring over his shoulder. 

“Pathetic. I should’ve known that you were too weak. Too  _ delicate _ . You’ll never be a true Malfoy, mark my words boy, I’ll make sure of it!” 

“Riddikulus!” 

Draco didn’t realize that his eyes were closed until he peeled them open to see Lupin standing in front of him, holding a deflated white balloon. He realized that he was curled against the leg of a desk, and could have nearly cried out of embarrassment when Lupin stooped down to him, like he was some frightened animal. 

“It’s alright, Draco,” he said, gently placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “It’s all fake. It’s not real.” 

“How do you know it’s not real?” he whispered, unsure if he was talking to himself or to his teacher, and hurriedly stood up, brushing away tears. 

“Are you alright? I know it’s only the first lesson, but it can still be overwhelming.” 

“I’m fine,” he lied with a red face, knowing fully well that Lupin didn’t believe him. He didn’t even believe it himself f, but he was just trying to leave as quickly as possible, embarrassed at being caught like a child hiding underneath a table. 

“It’s getting quite late, sir, and I have a Potions essay that I still have to write for tomorrow, and I would hate to anger Professor Snape and -”

“It’s alright, off to your dorms you go.” 

Draco nodded slowly, as if still unsure of what just happened, and grabbed his bag that was sitting in the corner. 

“Next Thursday, Draco?”    
“Yes, sir,” he said, and then he fled to his dorm, hoping to run far away enough to escape his monsters, real or not. 


	5. Small Comforts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I suppose not,” he mock-grimaced, and they two shared a smile before returning to their essays, lost in their own heads as their pens scratched against their parchment in the soft crackling glow of the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short, but I promise we're getting to longer chapters soon! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated, let me know what you guys think! :)

“Where were you? Don’t tell me you’ve gotten detention already?” huffed Pansy from where she was bent over an essay, her hair in a state of disarray. 

“Just wandering around,” he lied smoothly. There were no curfew rules for Eighth-Years, but in McGongall’s words “Don’t be idiots and you won’t be treated like children, for Godric’s sake.” 

“What happened to you then? You look like Granger got knocked around in a tornado and just remembered about an essay.” 

“Shove off,” she muttered, trying to smooth down her dark hair before picking up her quill again. “Some of us actually have to try to get good grades this year. I can’t tell Father that I can’t get a suitable job because I flunked Divination, now can I?” 

Draco snorted and sat down on the sofa, thankful for the empty room. It was well past midnight, and they were alone save for some random Slytherin’s cat that was curled in front of the large fireplace. He relished in the silence for a moment, focusing on the scratching of Pansy’s quill. 

Hogwarts was always a rush of assignments and busy work, but he never had to care about it. He had to keep good grades as a Malfoy, of course, but it had been easy to keep them. Most of the topics weren’t horribly boring, and essays came naturally to him, much to Blaise’s annoyance. But this year, he couldn’t afford to get good enough grades without trying - it would be hard enough to find any job that would take an ex-Death Eater, and he thought about what would happen if he had to tell his mother that he couldn’t find work. It couldn’t happen. 

He stretched his long arms as he groaned, pushing himself into an upright position and opening his bag to find his textbooks and parchment paper. 

“I’m not the only Granger now, huh?” the other Slytherin taunted from across the room. 

“I suppose not,” he mock-grimaced, and they two shared a smile before returning to their essays, lost in their own heads as their pens scratched against their parchment in the soft crackling glow of the fire. 


	6. Misery Loves Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Can’t wait for next week,” he thought miserably as he trudged back to his dorms, his feet and heart heavy with failure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry it's short even though I keep apologizing 
> 
> I'm definitely drunk so ignore if there's any bad spelling or if it sucks right now but I'm excited and wanted to keep writing
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated :)

Another week sped by, leaving Draco to drown in homework and to forget about the embarrassment of lessons until Thursday rolled around and panic overcame him again. 

He moped through classes, ignoring all of Pansy’s attempts to annoy him in favor of reminding himself of how awful the last lesson went with Lupin. How he had seen his father, how he had cowered, how Lupin had tried to comfort him like a  _ child _ . 

He shuddered to think about what was going to happen that night, but he knew that it couldn’t be anything good. 

“You’re being weird again,” Pansy complained at dinner. 

“I’m just tired,” he defended, picking at his food. “Sinistra is already assigning two feet of parchment weekly for our astronomy visits. Honestly, who cares that much about the stars?” 

“Witches who get paid to make up stuff about the stars,” Pansy cackled, and for a moment, she was able to pull Draco out of his thoughts as he smiled, oddly thankful that the other students avoided them because of the marks on their arms.

Dinner ended with Draco giving her and Blaise a weak excuse about needing to visit the astronomy tower for class, and hurrying down the hall to Lupin’s classroom. 

“Better to get it over with,” he thought grimly as he entered the room. 

Once more, he saw his father, and once more, he froze, cowering against the image of his father shouting insults from across the room. 

Lupin stepped in front of him again, and Draco said nothing, although he gratefully accepted the piece of chocolate that the older man offered him afterwards. 

He left the classroom exhausted, defeated, and angry at himself. 

_ “Can’t wait for next week,” _ he thought miserably as he trudged back to his dorms, his feet and heart heavy with failure. 


End file.
